


Fool's Paradise

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brief use of swear word, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Mollcroft, Oral Sex, Post-TAB Setting, Sexual Content (Mature)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 21:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5943922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Mycroft and Molly allow a bit of whimsy to enter their arrangement, unaware of the storm that was about to overtake them ...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em>[Please note that if you’ve not seen Hitchcock’s "Psycho," there are spoilers in this!]</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool's Paradise

**Author's Note:**

>  

Mycroft Holmes sat back with a sigh, draped his wrists over the arms of the chair, and lifted his brows at his personal assistant, who was sitting on the other side of his desk. “Anything else?”

“There’s this text from Doug,” Anthea said, leaning forward to hand him her mobile. After they’d briefly discussed the situation in the Ukraine, she uncrossed her legs and rose to her feet. “About Saturday, sir …” Mycroft looked up from the file he was studying, his usual neutral expression in place. “Jeff’s wanting me to call the Gielgud to book tickets for Saturday night.”

“A lot can happen in two minutes, much less two days,” he said drily, then continued more seriously, “but I believe you can expect to be out of here no later than noon on Saturday without any need to return until Monday morning.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, then left the office and quietly closed the door behind her.

Mycroft’s attention returned to the file, which he set aside after a few minutes and sat forward to pull up a satellite feed on his laptop. When his mobile buzzed, he slid a hand into his jacket pocket without looking away from the computer, then glanced at the phone and hesitated for a moment before putting it to his ear. “Good afternoon, Molly,” he said, leaning back in his chair again.

_“Good afternoon, Mycroft. Is this a bad time for you?”_

“I have a few minutes,” he said. “What can I do for you?” Mycroft’s brows drew together when she hesitated.

_“Would you like to come over Saturday evening – if you’ll be free, I mean_ ,” she finally managed.

It was Mycroft’s turn to hesitate. There was something in Molly’s voice … “Right now it seems I will be, but that’s always subject to change,” he said.

_“I was thinking …”_ Another hesitation meant something was indeed up. _“Have you ever had a ‘movie night’? As an adult, I mean?”_

“I’ve never really gone in for films or television,” he said cautiously. “What did you have in mind?”

_“I just thought we might watch a Hitchcock thriller, eat a big bowl of over-buttered popcorn, get a bit sloshed on wine. And maybe, um, enjoy a romp on the sofa before my parents get home and catch us,”_ she added playfully.

“What?”

_“Sorry – just joking about the last part,”_ she said. _“Neither of my parents is living.”_ Mycroft didn’t reply right away, a bit taken aback at the thought of such an abrupt shift in the nature of the time they spent together. _“Never mind, Mycroft – I’m just being silly and should have given this more consideration before calling you,”_ she said, then sighed. _“It’s been a really crappy week at work and a movie night sounded like fun.”_ She was quiet for a few moments, then snorted. _“I’m sure it sounds more like torture than fun to you.”_

Five minutes later, Mycroft returned the phone to his pocket and went back to work … but not without first pausing to consider the potentially momentous nature of what had just occurred. He’d agreed to take part in something totally outside his experience, despite the fact that it would likely prove to be as misery-inducing as accompanying his parents to a West End musical.

And wouldn’t Anthea be shocked if she knew they _both_ had plans for a Saturday night “date”?

~~~~~

Mycroft gave Molly’s door a triple tap with his umbrella, then let himself in with the key she’d given him – and immediately stopped, eyes closing as he drew a deep breath. _Chocolate._ “Mycroft?” He quickly set his suit bag on the floor and hung his umbrella on a hook and was removing his overcoat as Molly came around the corner, smiling. “Hey.”

“Good evening, Molly,” he said, returning her smile as he removed his scarf and straightened his jacket. “Do I smell cake?” Of _course_ he smelled cake. If there was one thing Mycroft knew, it was cake, god help him.

“Yes,” she said, then quickly lifted onto her toes to give him a kiss, “and I expect you to eat a slice – or two. I hereby declare movie night to be anything-goes-night and nothing counts against you … not squealing girlishly at the scary bits – that’s me, by the way, but feel free to join in - or eating too much popcorn and/or cake or getting a bit sloshed on cheap wine – or very _good_ wine as it happens, thank you very much,” she said, after pausing to eye the bottle he was holding up, “… or overindulging in whatever _other_ manner we may choose,” she finished with an arch of a brow. She turned away, and Mycroft picked up his suit bag and followed her into the sitting room. When she continued into the bedroom, he made a detour to the kitchen to set the wine on the table – pausing a few moments to appreciate the two chocolate sponge cakes where they’d been cooling on wire racks - then went after her.

Molly was sitting on the side of the bed when he came in and put his case on the chair. “What have you got there?”

“The corduroy trousers and jumper you left here a few weeks ago and never took back. They’ll be more comfortable than your suit for lounging around on the sofa,” she said, setting them on the bed beside her, then added, “I had them cleaned.” She watched as Mycroft hung his suit in the wardrobe before he began to undress. “Shoes are optional – socks preferred … by the way,” she continued distractedly. Mycroft’s lips quirked as he looked up from unfastening his trousers and caught her staring at his hands. He deliberately hesitated before lowering his zipper, and Molly frowned before her eyes lifted to his ... and then she flushed and rose to her feet. “Right - I’ll leave you to it,” she said briskly, deciding she better remove herself from temptation since she needed to finish the cake.  

Once back in the kitchen, Molly gently worked a long, serrated knife horizontally between each chocolate sponge round to create two more layers, then carefully stacked them, spreading a generous portion of chocolate truffle filling between each layer. Despite Mycroft’s apparently constant diet, he might indulge his sweet tooth for once if given the right incentive.

Molly was whipping the cream when Mycroft entered the kitchen in his stockinged feet and came to stand beside her. He watched as she turned off the mixer, ran her finger around the edge of the bowl, and then offered her finger to him. Mycroft looked at her finger for a moment before taking it into his mouth. He circled his tongue around its length … once, twice … then slowly drew away, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked off every bit of the creamy sweetness he could and gave her finger a final swipe with his tongue.

Molly’s pupils had dilated, her breaths quickening as she watched Mycroft, and her lips now parted when he leaned forward to kiss her. When he finally drew away, she took a deep breath and released it before licking her lips thoughtfully. “Could use a bit more sugar, I think,” she concluded, teasingly, then tilted her head toward the sitting room. “Why don’t you go look at the DVDs and see if you prefer one over the others. I was thinking you might like _Vertigo_ or _Rear Window_ , but I have a bunch of Hitchcock films. Or we could watch something else entirely.”

Mycroft looked at the DVDs Molly had left on the coffee table, then moved to her shelves and ran his eyes over her rather large video collection. “It really doesn’t matter to me, Molly.”

“Maybe _Psycho_ then. That’s a scary one so I’ll have a good excuse for snuggling up to you,” she said as she put the bowl of whipped cream in the refrigerator and took out a container of double cream.

Mycroft raised his brows as he looked at her over his shoulder. “Do you need an excuse?”

“Well … _snuggling_ ,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d normally do that sort of thing.”

_“Hmm,”_ he hummed, pursing his lips. He returned to the kitchen as Molly started to heat the double cream. “Can I help?”

“You could break up the chocolate bars for me,” she said, nodding her head toward a carrier bag.

By the time the ganache was ready to go on the cake, Mycroft had loosened up to the point that he’d deliberately created a distraction by nuzzling the side of her neck while reaching around her to wipe his finger along the edge of the bowl. When he stepped away to pop his chocolatey finger into his mouth, Molly snorted, then pulled open a drawer and handed him a spoon. “Here - you don’t have to sneak a taste. Knock yourself out.”

“Successfully sneaking a taste is much more satisfactory,” he said, waving a dismissive hand at the offered utensil before giving his finger a final lick.

Molly poured the ganache over the cake and let it run down the sides, then smoothed the icing over the top and sides with a flexible spatula. She stepped back to admire the smooth shiny glaze, then set the cake aside for the icing to firm.

“What are you going to do with all the extra icing?”

Molly glanced from Mycroft to the bowl of ganache and back again. “We can put more on our cake slices, but I intended to top them with whipping cream and fresh raspberries,” she said as she started transferring the other bowls, pots and utensils she’d used from worktop to sink. “Whatever you – _damn it!”_ Molly’s elbow had hit the end of the spatula, flipping it up and out of the bowl and causing a stream of chocolate to be flung across her throat and upper chest. “Ugh,” she groaned, plucking the neckline of her tank top away from her breasts as the thin icing slid lower.

“Let me help,” Mycroft said, sounding amused as he took hold of the bottom hem, intending to blot the chocolate, but then he paused, realizing something he’d already noticed subconsciously … Molly wasn’t wearing a bra. “It will be easier if you take this off,” he suggested, brows raised. Molly lifted her arms without thinking and Mycroft pulled the chocolate-stained top over her head and tossed it aside. She turned her head to look at the discarded tank top, then down at her bare breasts, then back up at Mycroft and immediately blushed. Before she could instinctively cross her arms, Mycroft slid one hand around her waist and moved closer, urging her to lean against the worktop. “Let me help,” he repeated, holding her eyes, and Molly’s blush intensified and spread down her chest as she arched backward at his urging … and then she moaned and her knees wobbled when Mycroft tongued a stripe up the center of her chest before lifting his head and licking his lips. “ _Mmm,_ delicious,” he said, then proceeded to lick small splashes of chocolate off her neck and chest before kissing a trail to her right breast.

Molly’s eyes closed and she squirmed against Mycroft as he went from flicking his tongue over the tip of her breast to gently nibbling the hardened nipple to sucking the whole areola into his mouth. She rolled her head to the side, gasping, eyes opening … and she stared at the bowl of ganache for several moments … flushing at her thoughts … even as she stretched to dip her cupped fingers into the icing … and then left a trail of drips over the worktop as she brought her hand back … and spread the chocolate across her chest and left breast and midriff, moaning as her fingers brushed over her nipple.

And Mycroft raised his head.

And studied what she’d done.

Then his eyes met hers … and Molly’s knees buckled.

~~~~~

“And the moral to that scene is ‘Thou Shalt Not Steal’,” Mycroft said drily as Marion Crane’s fingers grasped the shower curtain before she collapsed, dead, over the side of the bathtub.

Molly suppressed a laugh, feeling obliged to give him a jab with her elbow. “No making light of a cinematic masterpiece,” she said, then stuffed another handful of popcorn into her mouth from the bowl she was holding in the V of her legs. They were stretched out on the sofa – his back propped on a couple of pillows against the corner and Molly sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest. Mycroft’s muscles shifted under her as he reached for his wineglass on the coffee table, then relaxed deeper into the corner before slipping his hand between Molly and the sofa back to grab some popcorn.

Mycroft was either interested in the film or doing a good job of acting like it, she thought as the familiar scenes played out. His muscles actually tensed when the shrieking music started during the brilliantly menacing scene with Milton Arbogast on the staircase, then he sighed when the private detective’s body finally hit the floor at the base of the stairs. He muttered “idiot!” when Marion’s sister went down the cellar steps to hide, then started at Molly’s squeal when Lila turned the mummified Mrs. Bates around.

Molly cocked her head and twisted to look at Mycroft. “Gets me every time,” she said, huffing a laugh, then hummed in appreciation when he dropped a kiss on her lips. She set the popcorn bowl on the table and slid her hand around his neck to bring his lips back to hers for a more lingering kiss. _“Mmmm …”_ She pulled away, then pushed against his chest to sit up when she noticed his gaze shift to the television screen. “Mycroft Holmes,” she accused as she reached for the remote and paused the video, “you’re actually _enjoying_ this film!”

A crease appeared between his brows as he frowned. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he protested, before continuing more thoughtfully, “but perhaps it’s not a complete waste of time if we’re going to be wasting time anyway.” When Molly started to frown, he added, “And I’m aware that didn’t come out the way I intended. Spending time with you is _not_ a waste of time.”

Molly gave him a skeptical look, then rose to her feet. “I need the loo. Do you want me to bring you anything while I’m up?”

“I’m getting up too,” Mycroft said. “I need to stretch.” When Molly hit “stop” on the remote and headed for the bathroom, he noticed Toby staring at him from a nearby chair before turning away. At least the cat hadn’t tried to join them on the sofa.

Mycroft carried their empty wine glasses and depleted bowl of popcorn to the kitchen. He was still considering whether to cut another slice of cake when Molly slid an arm around his waist before reaching past him and lifting the glass dome from the cake plate. “If you don’t want a whole slice, I’ll split one with you,” she offered.

~~~~~

They watched the rest of the film propped on pillows at opposite corners of the sofa, their legs interlaced, stockinged feet occasionally rubbing against the other’s thighs … their half-filled wine glasses near at hand, set on the coffee table alongside their dessert plates, which were wiped clean other than a few cake crumbs their fingers had missed.

As the story continued to unfold toward its unsettling conclusion, Molly found herself staring unseeingly at the screen, instead replaying in her mind what had happened earlier when Mycroft had proceeded to lick off every bit of chocolate she’d smeared over herself. After her knees buckled, he’d carried her to the kitchen table, then wedged himself between her thighs and bent over her, weight resting on his forearms as his tongue moved ever so efficiently over her torso. When he finished, he’d straightened and again licked his lips and repeated, “Delicious.”

Molly had slid her arms over the table top to straighten them overhead, groaning as she pressed her back against the hard surface and stretched her spine - and then abruptly froze at the arrested expression on Mycroft’s face. For a moment, she’d actually forgotten how she must look to him, displayed half-naked under the bright overhead light … and the warmth of her blush had spread from her cheeks and down her chest, tightening her nipples almost to the point of pain. Mycroft had reached toward her, brushing his thumbs over her nipples – not touching her anywhere else, just rubbing their pads over her tight flesh – and Molly drew a sharp breath as a quiver ran through her body. He’d slid his hands beneath her underarms and lifted her off the table and into his arms, his hands then separating – one to curve around her nape and the other around her waist - as he claimed her mouth, his tongue delving deep.

They’d continued kissing for several minutes, then Mycroft bent forward over the table, leaving Molly again lying on its hard surface as he straightened and ran his eyes down her body. When he’d hooked a finger under the waistbands of her leggings and knickers on each side of her hips, her eyes widened. _“Mycroft?”_ He didn’t say anything, but Mycroft’s gaze continued to meet Molly’s as he tugged on the material, and she found herself raising her bottom in answer to his unasked question. He’d slowly dragged Molly’s remaining clothing down her legs and over her feet, then tossed it aside before gently grasping her ankles and shifting closer between her legs as he guided her feet around his back. When Mycroft bent over her, Molly’s arms lifted to encircle his shoulders and their mouths met again, tongues rubbing and circling, then probing more deeply, taking their time.

Mycroft had finally drawn way, but continued to hold her gaze as he wrapped his hands around the outside of her thighs and tugged her closer to the edge of the table … and then he sat in the chair … and lifted her legs higher to drape her calves over his shoulders … and finally broke their eye contact as he turned his head to kiss the back of her left knee and nibbled his way up the inside of her thigh … his lips quirking at Molly’s shocked gasps as he scooted forward in the chair and slid his hands under her bottom … and lifted her to him as he lowered his head between her thighs … and finally, deliberately, and with obvious relish delved between her moist folds with his tongue, probing deeply as he began to explore her most intimate flesh for the first time.

Molly’s eyes had squeezed shut when pleasure flooded her body and her head swam from such exquisite torture … and she began to feel faint as her breathing deepened and her heart pounded … and then she thought of the bright light of the overhead fixture and wondered if she could die from embarrassment … but instead suddenly decided to stop worrying about how much the bright light allowed Mycroft to see, in favor of focusing all her attention on how Mycroft was making her _feel._ She’d stopped trying to suppress her reactions and slid her fingers through his hair to caress his scalp and hold him more closely to her. She flushed now at remembering that she’d even _guided_ him at one point – and blushed further as she recalled another point at which Mycroft had briefly lifted his head and laughed under his breath while gently covering her mouth with his fingers. “I don’t know how thin your walls are, but we don’t want your neighbors calling the police, do we?”

Molly’s muscles had tightened even further as she strained to press closer to Mycroft and then she’d suddenly stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to stifle her screams as an orgasm ripped through her and caused her entire body to clench and quake … and to continue to quiver as the deep pulsing eventually began to ease off … and then she’d groaned from her gut when Mycroft again nudged his face against her and ran his tongue over her … and Molly thought she really must have fainted at that point because the next thing she clearly recalled was being held against Mycroft on the bed as his hands slowly traced over her and his lips teased the base of her throat and he lifted his head and met her eyes … and rose over her at her urging … and entered her with one hard thrust … and drew back and did it again … and then proceeded, as some say, to fuck her brains out before finally collapsing in a seemingly boneless, chest-heaving heap on the bed alongside her.

They’d eventually regained enough strength to make their way to the shower, where they took turns washing each other’s back and focused their attention on cleaning up, until their eyes had met at that certain moment, in that certain way, and they were in each other’s arms again.

By the time they’d dressed and returned to the kitchen, Molly had been able to glance at the kitchen table without thinking she’d die from embarrassment … and she’d quickly prepared the popcorn and eventually carried a large bowl of it to the sofa, while Mycroft followed behind her with their wine.

~~~~~

“Molly?” When she didn’t respond, Mycroft called her name again while running a fingertip over the arch of her foot - and then huffed a laugh when Molly flinched and gave him a wild-eyed stare. She turned her head to look at the screen before sliding her eyes back to meet his … and then she blushed, most profusely. Her blush appeared to deepen, if that was possible, when he held her gaze. “You missed the final line, which I have to admit was an effective ending –”

_“Why, she wouldn’t even harm a fly …,”_ Molly quoted. “I’ve seen it, remember?”

“So you have,” Mycroft murmured, studying her expression as her eyes again slid away. She tugged her feet from under his thighs and gave him a quick glance as she drew up her knees then swiveled to sit up. He watched as she rose to her feet and crossed the room to remove the DVD before carefully returning it to its sleeve.

When Molly finally turned back to look at him, Mycroft decided not to inquire about what had so embarrassed her. He could deduce it easily enough.

Within the hour, they were in bed and asleep, Mycroft spooned along Molly’s back … both of them still relaxed, still sated, from their earlier activities.

~~~~~

Sherlock sighed in satisfaction when the last tumbler turned and the lock gave way. He pocketed the pick and started to ease the door open, his carefulness not being from any concern about disturbing the flat’s occupant but arising solely from the possibility that the cat might be lurking just inside, waiting for an opportunity to escape. All he had to do now was to waken Molly sufficiently to shift her to the box room – not that he was expecting any protest since they’d decided early on that he required use of the larger space of her bedroom whenever he chose her flat as his current bolt hole. This visit should be of short duration, he thought … just long enough for the rather overpowering odor of sulfur to clear his flat and for Mrs. Hudson to get over her fit of the sulks, although why she’d got so stroppy over a perfectly innocent accident –

Sherlock’s thoughts came to a grinding halt as he processed what he was seeing. What were Mycroft’s umbrella, overcoat and scarf doing hanging in Molly’s entry at three o’clock in the morning … A wave of anger and resentment suddenly swept through him, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced for years, but after several taut moments he successfully fought back the overwhelming urge to confront them immediately now that he’d uncovered their perfidy.

A few minutes later, Sherlock again removed his pick from the lock and silently strode down the corridor to the stairs and finally out into the night air.

**Author's Note:**

> I would _love _to read your thoughts on this (or any other) story! Reader comments are what motivate me to keep writing ... so more comments, more writing. Probably. :)__
> 
> ___Edited 7 April 2016 to add:_ It's come to my attention that the "structure" of this series could be confusing. If I'd known Mycroft's and Molly's initial encounter was eventually going to develop into a relationship, I would have started this as a multi-chaptered story instead of a series. Please note that the storyline of this Encounters series is chronological, so reading earlier parts will show how they got to where they are now. :)_ _
> 
> __For anyone who might be interested, I'm on Tumblr and devote 99.99% of my time and effort there to Mycroft/Mark love.[WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)_ _


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